Heart Shards
by RauthrMystic
Summary: [Book1 Crystalline Series] Petunia's life is irrevocably changed, once again, by letter. It will take all her strength, guile, and wit to raise her orphaned nephew and keeping the peace in her household. -AU- Compassionate!Petunia, pre-hogwarts, ((I will add more here as I continue, including updating char list)) Use the Forum for Discussions and Author Notes!
1. Tea and Tidings Part1

Tea and Tidings

Part One

Life in number four Privet Drive was normal. There was the patriarch and man of the house Vernon Dursley, his wife and homemaker Petunia, and their young son Dudley. Indeed, the Dursleys tried to foster the image of their perfect and normal life. The rotund man, with small squinted eyes and straw-like yellow hair, was a head shorter than his model-like wife. She had the odd proportions that lent themselves beautifully to the runway. Her legs and neck were long in relation to the rest of her body, which itself was taller than average. Her light golden blonde hair coiffed and curled just so, pearls at the neck, Petunia strove to personify the post World War II housewife stereotype. Her red pumps giving just enough rebelliousness to make her the talk of the Ladies Tea without incurring the wrath of their gossip.

Petunia was in fact quite adept at maneuvering within the social turbulence of their middle-class community. One must always appear affluent yet charitable. It was with there that the Dursleys were able to imply virtue without any real effort on their part. They would just trot out Petunia's nephew. " _Poor Harry,"_ She would say. " _He survived when both his parents died in a horrible accident!"_ Then for a dash of drama, hand at her pearls and getting a bit misty eyed, she would add: _"They say terrorists were involved!"_ Nothing is so dramatic as the truth. The ladies would congratulate her on her generous spirit and devotion to family. All the while knowing that decency kept them from their own pious retort. Then they'd coo over little Harry, with his big innocent green eyes. " _He's just so frail, I worry so,"_ she would continue, deceptive appearances were Petunias mainstay after all; She felt no remorse in allowing them to see her nephew as a fragile orphan. Being younger and smaller than her Dudley just added to the aura of fragility. " _Oh, that nasty scar! It's the only legacy he has of his parents!"_ She would end. Once again reminding the social climbers and flibbertigibbets that her place was secure.To which the ladies would offer their token efforts to assist the young family. Mr. Dursley meanwhile, would just make an off comment on how trying it was to raise a child not his own before the gents talked sport.

The façade began on a cold November morning, no different from any other. Petunia, up early as she was wont to do, had already prepared her infuser with her own 'breakfast tea' blend (Keemun, Assam, and Darjeeling in equal parts, a healthy dash of nutmeg in honor of autumn, and milk). She would peruse the 'Home Journal' while she waited for the water in the kettle to boil. Of course like everyone else she had an electric model, hers was just a touch more elegant than the rest. Wrapped in her house coat and a shawl around her shoulders, she would get the newspaper, while her tea steeped. Then sit at the table and sip at her tea while she brushed up on current events. The Midsomer Midden was a weekly paper and kept a fairly up to date social calendar of the county.

It was a sneeze that broke her normalcy and changed her life for ever more. Upon hearing, it her head swiveled sharp and hawk-like towards the conservatory door. Her own son, well into his tantrum two's (though he had turned four that past June), was sleeping upstairs in his room. They had no pets and it was a few hours yet before sunrise, and a few hours more before it would be acceptable for social calls. Though she would certainly have a stern talk to whomever thought themselves familiar enough with them to use their back door as opposed to the front. Petunia cocked her head and was ready to count it as a sound of the early morning wind when she heard a tiny cough. With that she stood regally from her chair, wrapping herself in her plush house coat, drawing the sash tight and tied at her hip. She ensured that her sleeping cap was in order and that no stray curl had escaped from where they were secured and walked towards the conservatory.

She tapped the screen beside the door that opened into the glass walled room, a recent upgrade in their security system, and could see no one in the garden or on the patio. She flipped a switch to turn on the the lighting that discretely showed off the masterpiece of a garden. She had the first place ribbons to prove it. She frowned as she saw at the bottom of the screen, near the french doors that led to the patio, a small sliver. She couldn't tell what it was, but she new it was less than a metre high or wide. She tried to tell Vernon they needed a camera with a better viewing angle. It was hard though, for portly man to imagine anything that could fit in one square metre. Well this could prove useful in future conversations. He had just wanted to be able to tell the lads down at the pub about his newest tech. Petunia however had more varied uses for the cameras. Knowledge was power after all.

Safe in the knowledge that no one was inside the conservatory, she quickly made her way through the room. She could see frost on the windows, obscuring the stars overheard. Opening the white trim french doors, she could see through the security screen, what appeared to be a bassinet. Her mind refused to make the leap from the bassinet itself to what would be inside. She found herself hoping it was a litter of kittens. She quietly opened the security screen door, took a step forward and knelt down. To the left, leaning against the glass was, what she assumed, to be the stand that accompanied the baby carrier. There was also a familiar trunk. It was black, with red leather straps, around and over the top, and the metal was a sturdy bronze made to look like gold. She knew on top, covered by a bag, would be the name 'Lilly Evans'.

A shock ran through her body. Her sisters school trunk and a bassinet. The phrase repeated over and over in her head. A riot of emotion that she was currently too numb to put a name to. Reaching forward, she pulled back the top comforter, folding it half down, it smelled of smoke. Beneath lay an envelope with her name scrawled in beautiful, gold leaf calligraphy. Shaking, her hand moved the package to the foot of the bassinet, on the comforter. The quilt seemed to be of good quality, if you could ignore the flying golden balls and brooms that zipped around on it. Next was a white fleece blanket, thick, soft and warm against a baby's skin. The child in question was sleeping soundly, clutching a shaggy black stuffed dog, and dummy firmly in his mouth. His head was topped with a shock of black hair, rosy cheeks, and soft pale skin. Her quick examination couldn't fail to notice the wound that started at his eyebrow, just left of his nose, to just above his right temple. It was inflamed and the hair around it seemed to have fallen out, but the baby was still sleeping well. _'I'll need to get some scar cream'_ she thought randomly.

Being the practical woman that she was, Petunia quickly pulled herself together, picked up the bassinet, and closed the door. She walked quietly back to the table, on which she put the basket. Her kettle had clicked itself off indicating that the water was heated. For a few moments she lost herself in her morning ritual: breakfast tea, one sugar and a dash of milk. With her mug wrapped in both hands, warming them, she stood above the bassinet. _'At least whoever left_ _him_ _on my stoop swaddled the child well'_ her thoughts were critical. However, she couldn't just leave him untended. She still had nappies from Dudley's smaller days, bottles, and a few dummies, so she was confident that she could care for him.

Petunia went into the kitchen to prepare a bottle. Not knowing if solid food had been introduced yet to the boys diet. Bottle in hand she sat down at the table and contemplated this abnormality. Petunia found herself quite dismayed at the situation. _'People just don't leave children on doorsteps in today's world'_ Her thoughts still trying to process the bassinet in front of her _._

With a fortifying breath, Petunia slowly picked the baby up. He fussed a bit when she removed his dummy, but the warm milk bottle was received well. She sat there, silent, just watching the child in her arms. There was little doubt who the child was, but admitting that meant confronting the "why's" behind the baby on her door step. She wasn't quite ready. When he had finished his bottle, she through a towl over her shoulder and patted his back to help him burp, making sure no gas was lodged in his belly. Wiping the sick up from his mouth made him fuss. He opened his green eyes that surely would've been a glare if it wasn't on such an adorable face.

"There there young one," she whispered to him silently, quickly ensuring he had his dummy. He huffed at her, as if to make his dissatisfaction known, before the dummy was once again locked in place. He nestled in and closed his eyes. Such innocence. _'Oh Lilly-bear, what's wrong?"_ she thought to herself. She knew it would take an extraordinary circumstance to separate her sister from her son. Her beautiful, bright, and shining baby sister.

It had been, to Petunia, a devastating shock when their family found out that Lilly was magical. She had always carried a slight jealousy of her sister, though she was two years senior. Where Petunia was a somewhat uncommon light haired blonde, her sister had vibrant red hair. She had actually played the big sister more than a few times when the children in Lilly's school though to make fun of her for being a ginger. They both shared the Evans family green eyes, however Lilly's were so bright they nearly glowed. Lilly was only slightly taller than her peers, while Petunia had always towered over her own. The biggest difference though was how exuberant Lilly had been, even as a young child. She seemed to radiate a sense of confidence that Petunia felt she lacked. Next to Lilly's warm and welcoming personality, Petunia was cold and off putting.

As a grown woman she could see that being a very hormonal fifteen when Lilly got "The Letter", had made things more tumultuous than they needed to be. Her beleaguered mind had been unable to see past the young girl who would have experiences that were beyond anything Petunia would experience. It was a real life adventure her sister was going on and she was being left behind. Not only left behind, she couldn't even visit. She had written a letter to the headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, pleading to be let in. His reply had been a standard rejection letter. For all the emotion she had felt at that time, the silent callousness of the letter was like shards of glass in her soul.

Life changed after that. She never got to teach her sister the things that a young woman could expect to go through during school. She couldn't even help with homework. As Petunia's life seemed to get more and more average, Lilly grew into a beautiful woman with perfect curves, a vibrant personality, and was (quite literally) magical. Though Petunia herself was considered beautiful, compared to her sister she felt like a stick topped with wool. They had never quite gotten the closeness back that they had once shared. The mercurial, and sometimes turbulent, emotions that had pushed between them had left a lonely bitter feeling within Petunia. She never did quit missing her sister.

Gently she lay her nephew back in his basket, only covering him with a quilt from linen closet she had stored for Dudley. She would need to wash the bedding, as the smell of smoke clung to them. Next she moved her attention to the packet she had received. It was thick and a dark yellowish color with her name written on it: Mrs. Petunia Eavanartan Dursley. The fancy gold leaf calligraphy didn't smear or flake as she ran her finger over it. Turning the offending article over, she found that the thick envelope was sealed with red wax. She frowned at the image embossed there. The "H" was one she would never forget. This letter was from Hogwarts! She hissed quietly. _'That damn school!_ _What were they doing with my nephew!? Oh, t_ _hey are going to bring ruin to my life...again!'_ She recognized that the desire to throw the envelope into the fire was not a rational one. It likely contained answers that she dearly needed (even if she didn't want them.) She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, forcibly calming herself. The rage she felt was an old one that belonged to a different time. ' _B_ _ack then_ _I was a young teen, with a young girl's dreams and a young girl's ambitions.'_ She was not a little girl any longer.


	2. Tea and Tidings Part2

Tea and Tidings

Part Two

With her finger, she broke the seal. The envelope had a warmer texture than she had been expecting. Taking another breath she braced herself and pulled out the folded pages within:

Greetings and Salutations Mrs. P. Dursley, I hope that this letter finds you well. I am sad to be the one to inform you, that your sister Mrs. L. Potter and her husband Mr. James Potter, by a known terrorist organization known as 'The Knights of Walpurgis' and in collusion with rogue elements within our government, have been murdered. Surviving Mr. and Mrs. Potter is their fifteen-month-old son, young Mr. Harloch Jameson Martinus Potter. Due to the circumstances of your sister and brother-in-law's passing, a special protection is offered to you and any who can call your home their own. This protection is the strongest the magical world can offer. You must only take in and raise this young child as your own. His blood runs in your veins, as yours does in his. Their are still knights that are at large, which could put you and your family in danger. In deference to your non-magical status and distaste for the magical world, I have placed certain wards around your home that make it uninteresting to the average wizard. Any in the wizarding world who do not already know your location will not be able to find it. As you had limited your contact with Mrs. Potter in the past, I feel confident that you will remain undisturbed by "our kind". The protections mentioned above will protect you from anyone bearing the mark of this terrorist organization and also from those meaning harm to you or any that you shelter. Please be reminded, young Mr. Potter's Hogwarts letter will arrive by mail the day of his eleventh birthday. If there is no response, be warned that more drastic measures will be taken. Until then his education and well-being are left to your discretion.

 _Kindly and with Deepest Condolences,_

 _Albu Dumbledore_

Petunia tried to take a deep breath only to find herself chocking on the air instead. Her whole body was shaking. The bottom had dropped from her stomach, pins and needles exploded in her fingertips and toes and then quickly infused her blood. Quietly, she dashed through the conservatory to back garden, behind a tall hedge that divided their garden in two, hiding their shed from view. There was a large tree that had somehow survived not only the Blitz, but also the developers who built in the area after the war. Not to mention the previous owners of their house, who could trace themselves and their conspiracies back to the Middle Ages. They had added, changed and sometimes even removed so many parts of the house and it's modest grounds, that she was still finding hidden nooks and crannies.

Hand on the tree, back to the hedge, Petunia finally released ragged breath. She fell to her knees, arms wrapped around her middle as she rocked back and forth, keening silently (so as not to wake anyone). Images flashed before her eyes: Red hair in pigtails and a rainbow striped shirt, hands on hips and a hardness to her chin. "I can do it myself!" the young Lilly had said mulishly. She had been four to Petunia's six. Her sister had refused to let Petunia help her climb the wooden slats that lead up to the platform their father had built in the lonely tree of their childhood home. She had fallen and broken her arm. "Tuney, UP!" followed after the doctor visit. Her little sister wouldn't leave her side for months. Even if she complained, she loved it. They even had sleep overs in Petunia's room (Lilly hadn't yet graduated to a bed big enough for the both of them).

Another flash; Red hair held back by a simple head band, a bright green frock with a yellow duckling embroidered on the breast. Her dainty feet in white sandals. The park near Spinners End, and her sister swinging as high as she could. She had been laughing. She was always laughing. "Tuney! Tuney watch!" Petunia's voice had caught in her throat as her baby sister jumped out of the swing at its highest point. She ran forward to catch her, yelling out "Lilly-bear, NO!" before she was stopped by shock, as the little girl floated down like Mary Poppins. "You're a witch," a young boy with an unfortunate hook to his nose, about her sister's age had said "and I am a Wizard. My name's Severus. What's yours?"

The pain in her heart was sharp with another flash; a huge smile lit her face as Little Lilly Evans, came home from wizarding school for holiday. She was given a beautiful pink orchid, clinging ever so gently to a thick evergreen tree (which had little teardrop shaped leaves). "I chose pink because I love you unconditionally, the orchid represents your grace and beauty, and the Boxwood tree is a bonsai! It represents endurance because we'll always be together!" Petunia had tried to keep the jealousy of her sisters magic hidden but obviously she had not hidden it enough. The Boxwood also meant stoicism. The plants were 'charmed' to stay fresh. It would always be in perfectly in bloom. Always.

"Tuney you know that I want you to be happy," the next memory began. "But you are worth more than the Queen's Jewels and that... _ **thing**_ out there can't make you happy! He just can't!" her sister had ranted at her. The red flush across her cheeks and chest, a clear sign of the 'hot blood' red heads were alleged to have. "No Tuney, he could make you happy. He could, but he won't. He's a pig-headed chauvinist. He's driven by his greed, ambition, and intolerance! He doesn't love you Tuney. I don't think he even knows how! He's only marrying you to be his trophy wife. With you at his side _**no one**_ will actually look at him!" It had been one of the most vicious arguments the sisters had ever had. "Please Tuney, be happy," her sister had said as she kissed her cheek the day she had wed Vernon Dursley, and stood quietly by her side.

"Oh Petunia," the next Lilly memory sighed. "he's perfect!" Petunia hadn't known what to expect when she had called for her sister. They didn't talk often. She had been so scared though, when the contractions had begun getting closer and closer together. She had tried to kick Vernon out of the delivery room, ( _'let him stay with his horrible sister'_ she had thought) but he refused. He looked at her like a prize chicken. At that moment she couldn't stand his beady little eyes, pot-belly, and jiggling jowls. Then Lilly was there. She'd come into the delivery room like an avenging angel. A mere look from her flashing green eyes had sent Vernon running for dear life. Lilly stayed by her side, weathering the riot of emotions that bringing a life into this world can cause. She stayed by her side for over sixteen hours. Lilly had actually ended up with a scar on her hand that she laughingly called Petunia's Rage.

"Lilly, are you sure you're ready for this?" Petunia had asked in the next memory. "I mean I know you love him, I do. I get it. But you said he was a Lord! Even if your kind do things differently, there will be so much social pressure on you. With all that blood purity nonsense it could be very dangerous for you!" Lilly wouldn't see past her joy. She was happy, deliriously so. However, it was an older sisters prerogative to worry about her sibling. Lilly never had taken well to their mother's lessons on deportment and etiquette. Those lessons were the ones she would need most if she was going to survive her husband's social peers. She'd tried to tell her over and over that going to school with someone was much different from the social obligations of adulthood. The wedding was beautiful though, magical even.

"What good is your magic if it can't even protect our parents!" memory Petunia screamed at her sister in despair. "Tuney, please! Magic isn't a fix-all! Do you think I wouldn't have done anything to save them if I could? Petunia!" her sister had cried out as she walked away briskly. Their parents had died, peacefully, snuggled on the couch in front of their gas fire place. Never mind that there was no way Lilly could have known. Never mind that there were chemical alarms that could be bought at any hardware store that detected carbon monoxide. No logic didn't play in their arguments that day. The funeral was a haze in memory, but that was the last time she saw her sister.

All those memories and more kept flashing within her, an increasing pulse of agony that swirled with in her. The things she should have done, the things she should have said, the things they'd never do. The things Lilly would never do. She'd never know her son. The joys of motherhood that had been stolen from her sister ripped at years of jealousy, resentment and bitterness. It all built, a physical agony digging into her before she couldn't hold it in anymore. With a soft sob, Petunia fell to her back, arm thrown over her eyes and she cried harder than she ever had. A small part of her brain took notice of random things while the rest of her being was tossed in a maelstrom of loss. There was a large subterranean bunker under their garden shed. One of the roof joists could use some shoring up. She could easily remove the wall between the living room and the kitchen to give it more light and space. Their septic could use some bacteria to help with the breakdown of solids. The bird's nest above her had recently been rebuilt after a storm had blown half of it away.

She didn't completely remember all those little things. She never did. She purposely ignored them. Now, in her time of grief, she had no time to give to flights of fancy. Petunia didn't know how long she'd been there, lost to her dead sister. However, on the heels of the soul crushing devastation, came rage. A cold and determined rage. They had left her nephew, her sisters only child, on her stoop when the nights often brought frost. _'Goodness knows how long he'd been out there before I heard him!_ _What if he'd been stolen or toddled off on his own?!'_ She didn't have the energy to follow the thought of what could've happened to Harry. She didn't even know when her sister died. Was there a funeral? Who made the arrangements? Who thought the could take her sister from her?!

She marched in from the garden, not caring about the dirt she tracked in from her shoe-less feet. She glared at the letter that sat innocuously on her table, her eyes were stinging from all the crying and her throat was sore from holding in her wails. She grabbed the envelope and pulled out all the other documents. All the documents she would need to show she had legal guardianship of Harry _('That's what her sister had called him and by all that was holy in this world, so would she')._ However, there were quite a few things missing. What about her sisters' estate? She had received a "bride price" from the Potter Estate. Not to mention that, to her recollection all the Potters were dead save the baby in the bassinet. He still needed to get his regular vaccinations.

The rage burned colder as it struck her that these people had told her this shattering, life changing news, in a letter. Three whole paragraphs were supposed to give her the closure she needed? Three paragraphs and some veiled threat about her nephews magical status?! ' _How dare they_.' Fueled by her frigid anger Petunia began to plan her day. Her mind cataloged things that would need to get done while her husband was at work. She would take the direct approach in this. She knew her husband would want to ship the child off to Wool's Orphanage. He would dither and complain about the money that it would cost to raise another child. He would go on and on about the attention that it would take away from Dudley, and how he worried for his son's welfare. She would, in fact, receive many of the same arguments that he had given her when she asked him for another child. The man had his "interests" and he liked his life just so. He was very particular.

' _Well, no one w_ _ill take my_ _nephew from_ _me_ _, not even_ _my_ _husband.'_ She had thought tersely as she lifted the child from the bassinet. Whatever else the sisters had been, whatever they had gone through and wherever things had been left; this child was not a part of that. He was roughly two years Dudley's junior so they wouldn't be competing for social status, something her husband was sure to bring up. They would attend primary together, though in different years. That might prove a sticking point for Vernon. It's easy, even for a stupid man, to look important if everyone around him were docile enough. Vernon was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them, at least not where his ambition held sway. No, perhaps she had better home-school Harry. ' _It will keep conflicts from arising, and will endear us to the community,'_ which was necessary for Vernon's "plan". It would also appease Vernon's vanity if she started a tutoring business on the side. _'And if I hold at least one session a month at the local parish that will just augment Vernon's satisfaction. He had a "good wife", the very best. He would enjoy all the benefits of raising an orphan without actually impinging on his life. He might even get a raise.'_

While she had been planning (coming up with counter arguments, reserve approaches, and auxiliary strategies), she looked over her nephew. Gently feeling out his arms and legs ensuring everything was as it was supposed to be. He had four fingers on each hand, two thumbs, and all his toes. The only issue she noticed was that viscous looking scar. It was no more than a few centimeters but all the more noticeable on a child's face. It was red and inflamed and shaped like a lightning bolt (or the sowilo rune, though she'd never tell her husband that.) _'I'll have to keep an eye on it,'_ she thought as she added antibiotic ointment to her mental list of things she needed make sure she had.

She glanced at the clock and saw that it would soon be time to prepare breakfast. Vernon preferred his breakfast plated and ready for his consumption. His suit and shirt for the day were already hanging in the bath room and his cuff-links were in the dish by the front door, with his keys. Glancing down at the baby she knew that the coming months would be hard. Even if the child didn't see the supposed attack that killed his parents, he was obviously affected by it. Situations like that rarely left only physical scars. With a moue of distaste, Petunia went to the toilet near the kitchen and dug through the medicine cupboard to find melatonin. She hated putting him in a medicated sleep, indeed she wanted nothing more than to cuddle him close and recover from her emotional overload, but she needed him to sleep. Grabbing the mortar and pestle she ground down the pill to a powder, opened a bottle and put in a bit less than a third of what was left of the sleeping aide. Then after warming the bottle she gently picked Harry up. It surprised her that it was almost two hours from his last feed. Grief does strange things to people.

When he had finished she threw a towel over her shoulder and burped him. The bottle was replaced with the dummy once again (with much less fuss from the baby). She swaddled him and placed him back in his bassinet. She tucked him in securely and ensured his face was uncovered, then laying a blanket over the bassinet itself. He was asleep well before she placed him quietly in the cupboard under the stairs. For her plans to work, there were things that she needed to get done today that her husband couldn't know about. Not to mention the conniption Vernon would have if he had to start his day with such a surprise. Since her husband had come from a family with no magic and having no magic himself, she would need to tread carefully. If he found out, there could be hefty consequences (from wizards and Vernon both). She didn't need her husband or the magic government making a mess of things. If the letter were at all to be trusted then the less she had to deal with the magical government the better.

Closing the closet door quietly (making another mental note to get batteries for the baby monitor), Petunia, stood and turned toward the kitchen. She straightened her robe, tightened her sash and grabbed a broom to quickly sweep away the dirt she'd trudged in. A moist kitchen towel erased any evidence that her feet contained. She couldn't give Vernon any reason to think that day, would be different from any other day. _'_ _Why was my sisters family a target of these terrorists_ _?_ _Was it a random attack or planned? Did the government do anything at all to help? Shouldn't there_ _be some sort of liaison she should be working with?_ Her thoughts ran quickly as she went quickly about making breakfast. _''_ _There is so much I am not being told. That I SHOULD be told!_ _?_ _She was my sister, witch or no witch!_ _'_ Well today was a day for answer, and she would have hers!


	3. Full English

Crystalline

Rauthr Mystic

 _Full English_

Fried egg, sausage, a slice bacon, mushrooms, baked beans, hash browns, toast, and half a tomato were on the table just waiting for Vernon to come downstairs. Dudley was in his highchair doing his best to beat a carrot into submission. Everything was just as it was expected to be: Normal. "Eevee Honey, where are my cuff links?" Vernon bellowed from their upstairs bedroom. Hearing his dad's voice, Dudley squealed and began throwing carrots at his fathers chair.

"They are downstairs Darling," Petunia moderated her voice. There was no need to make Dudley any more energetic, not to mention the second toddler sleeping under her stairs. "They are with your keys. Come and eat your breakfast Vernon, you don't want to get egg on your cuffs again!"

"Right you are my peach," the thunderous steps echoed through the house. She made a mental note to reinforce the stairs. Even if she managed to get her husbands weight under control, he had no idea how to do things 'softly'. From sleeping to watching the telly, she always knew where he was by sound alone. He smiled as he came into the kitchen, maneuvering his bulk with practiced ease.

"How's breakfast champ?" Vernon mussed his sons hair on his way to sit before his own plate. "Ah, I see your aim is improving! Good Lad! What's today's tea darling?" It was the newest fad within the community. To have tea that was somehow different. It didn't matter if you liked it, just that your family had enough to enjoy a different blend for every occasion.

"It's your very own Breakfast blend with a touch of cinnamon, milk and sugar." Vernon wasn't really that adventurous. He once tried chamomile tea as a lad, or so the story goes. He blew up like a balloon and had to go to hospital. Ironic since he had no allergy to it. "You can tell your coworkers that you had an Asian Breakfast Blend." He grunted in response, his mouth already full of eggs and sausage. She was glad that he didn't try to smile at her with a full mouth anymore. Every little step counts.

"Don't forget that Charlie Smith is arranging a special tea for your management meeting." The quality of the grunt was lower with a dash of menace. "Yes yes, I am very aware on your thoughts on the Smiths. It doesn't matter if you think them delinquent and amoral you must treat them with respect." Another grunt, this one doubled and almost a whine. "I know Vernon but Charlie Smith isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Best to just get along." Somehow he sighed as he inhaled his food. Quite an impressive feat.

"Regardless Vernon, you must be polite. There will be at least one Deputy Directorship available within a few years." To this Vernon groaned as if common human decency was an extra effort. The slight whine meant he didn't understand why he should have to put forth the effort. "Mrs. Crow's sisters husband plays golf at the same country club as Mr. Peabody, who is the current Deputy of Sales," she could tell Vernon was quickly losing interest. He didn't know, or care, about the maneuvering Petunia had to do to get this information. The research she'd done into the lives of Vernon's co-workers and bosses. It never occurred to him that the ladies weekly tea was so much more than the idle gossip of housewives. "The point Vernon," she said somewhat frostily. "Is that Mr. Peabody is looking to retire. You and Charlie are both prime candidates for the position. However if you don't how management that you are as adaptable as you are personable, you will lose the opportunity."

Her statement took a while to sink through Vernon's intolerance. It wasn't until his plate was clean and his belly satisfied that avarice and pride kicked in. "I hadn't heard that Eevee my luv. Of course, Charlie couldn't ever really compete with a man of my calibre. No need for management to look elsewhere." That translated roughly to 'Fine, I'll play nice as far as management is concerned.' Also, unspoken, was that Vernon would spend less time "supervising' and more time actually managing his team. Which worked perfectly with Petunia's need. Work would keep him distracted.

While Vernon rearranged his mindset to focus on this new ambition, Petunia took Dudley upstairs. Washing him and getting him ready for school. He was doing well in his reception year, though he was showing signs of his fathers tendency to throw his bulk around. She would need to find a way to curb that behavior pattern before it became ingrained. Though after an exacerbating tantrum demanding an orange jumper instead of red, Petunia knew she would have to tackle Vernon's parenting first. Tantrums were not the signs of the strong character her husband seemed to think they were.

Ensuring that Dudley's rucksack was in order. She lead him downstairs into the arms of his father. Vernon always took the time to take Dudley to school. It warmed her heart to see, though she dreaded that it was likely a temporary thing.

"Okay Vernon, here is Diddums lunch, and here is yours," she said handing him the two lunch boxes. It always made Dudley smile to see his dad took his lunch as well. Vernon would likely have his eaten before the managers lunch.

"Also you must remember that we'll need to start making time in the evenings to help Dudley with his schoolwork." She smiled. Dudley chose that moment to make himself known. "I'm going to school!" he yelled.

"Indeed you are, my little dudykins is getting so big!" she said as she lifted him into a hug. "Soon I won't be able to pick you up!"

"He's taking after his ol'man. By the time I started primary I was as big as the older kids," Vernon was many things, but there was no doubt he loved his son. Perhaps even more than he loved himself. Only time would tell.

3 3


	4. Murder Alley

Crystalline

Rauthr Mystic

 _ **Murder Alley**_

Just being in the parking lot across from the dark alley and ramshackle pub was oppressive. The alley seemed to exude darkness and danger. The building had boarded up windows that were cracked and shattered in places. There was graffiti all across the face of the building making it difficult to tell where things should be. Hung on the door was a simple sign that said "closed for renovations". She knew that from her trip here with her family when she was younger.

A fortifying breath and she stepped out of her pristine white Mercedes A-class Hatchback. It was a solid family car and a statement about their affluence. Vernon took pride that his wife never had to use public transport (and that he never had to be inconvenienced by not having his own car). From the hatch she grabbed the nappy bag left by her sister. As expected, the bag was bigger on the inside than it should be. Searching through the space, she finally found the baby wrap. Surprisingly it was a simple grey colour. That made her feel less conspicuous. Taking the sleeping child from the car seat that she had kept in hopes of a brother or sister for Dudley. It was bitter sweet using it for young Harry.

The wrapping process took a few minutes to get the child secured on her chest. The weight was comforting. Also she knew she needed skin contact with someone magical to get into the wizards domain. She carefully put the strap of the bag over her shoulder, after putting her own purse in, and locked the car. Slowly she turned and faced the dilapidated building. The Alley next do the building was as ominous as ever. The building itself though had changed. Gone were the boarded up windows and graffiti. Instead was a pubface that would have fit in nicely in the 1600's. It was well cared for, though it could certainly use a clean and a nice layer of paint or fresh plaster. That was just the outside.

Walking towards the door she heard a voice behind her call out, "Lady, you don't want to be goin' into murder alley!" Put off slightly by the unexpected interaction, she turned slightly.

"Pardon me?" Petunia said quietly

"Murder Alley. 'S not the place for a baby." the man said as he stood by his own car, the driver side door open.

"I've not heard that." she said slowly. "Why is it called that?" She hadn't gone back to the Alley after that first time.

"During the war, The Second World War, dead bodies would be found there. No sign of violence or struggle, just dead bodies. The paper's all said the people died of heart related failures, but my da' told me 'if you want to live you stay away from that alley. Nothing but murder found there.'" He smiled as if he was giving her grand advice. "They never did find out why so many people were here, in this specific alley. Some called it Suicide Alley because so many people were found there. But no sign of suicide could ever be found." The chap seemed nice enough.

"Well thank you, I'll keep that in mind." she said politely. "However it seems this building next to the alley was left to the family and I've come to see if anything can be made of it."

"Ah. Well good luck. Can't remember any business surviving here" As she drew closer to the door, the man lost interest in her and abruptly said goodbye. It's odd how the wizard magic could affect normal people. _Murder Alley, huh?_ She thought to herself. _Just how long have the wizards been killing people?_ The longer Lilly had been in the wizarding world the more uncomfortable Petunia had become. She didn't understand the rules that lead them, their history, their economy. It was frightening. The one thing she did know though, was that the only bank they had belonged to goblins. It was the giant white structure that she needed to get to.

She opened the pub door, one arm keeping Harry close to her chest. Inside the building hung a nebula of smoke. _Or smoke-like,_ she thought incredulously. There were smoke dragons, cats, dogs, shooting stars and things she had no words to explain. If it wasn't so garish she would call it magical. It seemed that it was a slow time for the pub. There was a witch, shroud in a black veil smoking a pipe, and in one corner someone was reading the paper (though all you could see was smoke coming from behind it). A few people sat close and talked in whispers. The pub itself was classic in it's dark wood and ornate moldings. Crystal chandeliers hung over the bar, sheets of cobwebs obscuring their light, and there were leather topped stools in front that were all empty. The wooden bar top was dinged and scratched and mostly clean. The floor was uneven stone and Petunia walked carefully in her black pumps.

"Excuse me sir," She said politely to the man working the bar. He wore a dark vest, over a ruffled, threadbare shirt that may have once been white. The billowy sleeves were held back by a simple garter at his bicep. The grey eyes looked up to her were curious, but his near toothless smile was a bit offputting.

"Name's Tom, Welcome to the Leaky!" he was friendly enough.

"Yes, thank you. I was hoping you could help me?" she said, patting Harry's back in her own nervousness.

"Well I'll do what I can," he said earnestly.

Taking a deep breath she prepared her speech. "My sister recently passed away and I've taken custody of her son. I need to settle her estate but I don't have a wand. Could you possibly let me into the alley?"

Tom open smile closed and became tinged with sadness. "Aye, there are many orphans. Sorry bout yer loss."

"Thank you," she said quietly. Still fighting back tears. Death does strange things to relationships. It puts things into a whole new perspective.

The barman quietly came out from behind the bar and led her down an 'L' shaped hallway that ended in a Gothic arched alcove. There was no seating, no paintings, just rough stone. Taking out his wand he tapped, what seemed to her to be, a random stone. As he stepped away, the stone began to melt outward until the alcove became an arched entry. The Alley was far from empty and Petunia could feel her heart rate increase. Cradling Harry closer she reminded herself: "I must do this."

"Thank you Tom," she said as she stepped into the Diagon Alley. The thing that drover her mad was the disparate styles around her. Every shop was built differently. Some were quaint and could easily fit into many country villages. There was some that belonged in a caricature Gothic novel, and yet others built in a Tudor era were right next door. It was chaos. Their cloths were no less nonsensical the only thing that was common were robes. Yet even those were all in varying styles. The style was eccentric at best: Hats with vultures, powdered wigs with feathers and pearls, hair that changed color or glowed, there was something different everywhere you looked. It made Petunia stand out that much more. For this meeting she had chosen a solid soft pink dress, that hung to her knees, black pumps and her pearls. Her blonde hair pulled back into a bun.

 _Petunia you don't have time to gawk,_ She told herself severely. _You have things that need to get done and only so much time to do it._ Bracing herself she began to walk with aplomb toward the towering white building she could see down the alley. It was another unique building. It looked like a child had placed large blocks of stone into a tower. Somehow it stayed upright, defying gravity by it's very existence. It took her a few moments to make her way through. She certainly got a few derisive looks but no one was bold enough to actually approach her. Thankfully.

Approaching the bank she saw that there were stairs leading to the door. The entry way roof was held up by columns. The doors gleamed in the weak light that entered into the alley. The bronze was cold to the touch, with six panels. What they depicted was beyond her, but they were masterfully done. There were guards in heavy plate armor to each side of the door with great spears. They stared straight ahead. "Excuse me, do I just enter?" she asked the guards who didn't even look at her. Shrugging she pushed, and the thick door glided open as if it were but a feather. Inside the building was exquisite. It was richly appointed but not garishly so. Simple and understated as much gold chandeliers, and silver veins forking their way through the walls could be called such. Along one wall, at exact distances from eachother, were more guards. Some ended up flanking archways that, if this were a normal place, would lead directly into the alley. Here they probably lead to a warren of halways. Sconces along the wall and on columns throughout the buildingl, were sculpted and elegant, even if they were more fighting goblins.

In the middle of the rectangular space was a table that seemed to contain various documents, quills, and ink. Atleast that was relativly normal. Accross from the guards was a long raised counter, topped with cages that kept the bank tellers seperated from their customers. Whether they were procting themselves from possible theft or protecting the clients from the bankers was uncertain. She walked slowly to a short queue. Wizards and witches muttered among themselves. Their conversations were nonsensical to her and pointed out that here, she was the outsider. It wasn't a feeling she enjoyed. Pixie mating cycles and the benefit of swarms that hibernated versus those that migrate was a heated discussion going on in front of her.

"Dursley!" startled Petunia looked around. Stepping out of an archway was a well dressed goblin. He wore dark grey twill trousers, a dove grey blazer with a purple pocket square. Petunia appreciated the normalacy of the goblins appearance. Even if his skin was tinged green, the high forehead with slickbacked black hair was not at all uncommon in the normal world. It was the wide nostrals set in a long pointy nose, long ears that stuck out of the side of it's head and fanged eye and canine teeth that truly set it apart. That and it's lacking height.

"Yes?" Petunia responded to his call. He motioned for her to come towards him as he walked to meet her.

Bowing slightly at the waist he said solemnly, "We here at Gringotts wish to extend our condolences to you and your family in this time of grief."

"Oh," slightly off put she didn't immediately know how to respond. "Thank you. Did you know my sister?"

"I met Mrs. Potter a few times," he repsonded. "please follow me." He lead her back towoard the archway he had come from. "My name is Griphook. My boss was notified when you entered with the young Potter heir. As their account manager he will be the one you will need to see."

"oh," seemed to be the only response she was capable of. She hadn't expected things to go so quickly.

"Goblins appreciate effenciecy madam." Griphook responding to her unanswered question. He lead her into a cavern like hallway with a raised walkway they journyed down. The walls were moist and the cave formations were cleverly lit and breathtaking in their natrual beauty. They walked in silence for a moment before they turned right and stepped down into a comfortable waiting area. It was it's own office conatained within a small grotto. The door at the rear, was set in worked stone. A contrast to cave around them. "Please have a seat Mrs. Dursley. I will notify the account maanger that you are here. Can I get you a drink? Water perhaps?" He head her to a black leather couch flanked by endtables topped with ferns.

"Oh. um. Yes please. Water would be perfect." She tried to smile as she sat, somewhat dazed. He returned shortly with her water.

"Account Manager Gorul has been notified, your wait should be too long." With that the goblin went to his desk and began doing whatever it was that kept him busy. Petunia sipped from the crystal goblet. She was surprised to find that the water had a pleasant floral smell. The toddler at her chest sighed as he snuggled close reminding her sharply that while coming here was difficult for her, his whole world had recently shattered. Their world was changing. It seems murder still stalked this wizarding alley.

6 6


	5. A Banker's Dozen

Crystalline

Rauthr Mystic

 **A Bankers Dozen**

"Griphook!" A voice suddenly crackled in the silence. "Send in my eleven o'clock"

Griphook stood and opened the door, stood aside and motioned for her to enter. "Mrs. Dursley, Account Manager Gorul will see you now."

A fortifying breath later and Petunia strode forward. Disconcertingly, the interior of the office looked as if it could exist high in London's Shard, the newest and tallest building in England's capital city. In fact, there was a large picture window that looked out over the city.

"Please Mrs. Dursley, have a seat, we have much to discuss and not near enough time."

The shock of seeing London from an office in a cavern had distracted her. Turning she saw a large goblin sitting behind a desk. He had no hair, though his nose was as long as Griphooks. The white hair coming out of his hears sat on his face giving him mutton chops. While he had no other signs that she associated with aging, she could tell that he was much older than his aide. His suit was pinstriped and he had a rotund shape that she was familiar with. "I'm sorry for taking up your time, just your window..." she had no idea where to go from that so she simply took a seat in front of his desk.

"Yes, interesting magic. That aside I presume you are here as Harloch's guardian." Petunia nodded her head.

"For the record ma'am I need you to verbally state that you are here in your capacity as Harloch's guardian." Seems banker's are sticklers for fine print no matter what species the banker is.

"I am here in my capacity as Harloch Potter's guardian."

"Please state your name," the goblin turned and grabbed an ornately carved and sealed tube. A giant ruby in the middle."

"Petunia Dursley," she replied, stunned at his nonchalance.

"Please state your full name for the records Mrs. Dursley."

Holding her breath for a moment to hold back her tart reply, "Petunia Genevieve Dursley." She tried to be as polite as possible.

"Thank you." he replied. "We need to ensure our records are impeccable. Wizard kind likes to question our honor often." He grabbed a stack of papers and placed them next to the sealed tube. "Please state for the record, how did Harloch Potter come into your custody?"

Politics. She should've known there was more to the banker than his terse questions. That one statement told Petunia a lot about the relationship between goblins and humans. To keep their working relationship with the wizarding world they had to be precise and thorough. That was something she could understand.

"He was left at my back garden door with a note." Embers within her soul flared briefly as she thought about the affront to her family.

"A child was left, unaccompanied, in your back garden. Do I understand that correctly."

"Yes, with a note and what I presume to be his things." she replied.

"May we make a copy of the letter? It's for our records of course."

"Of course. How many people will have access to this? It is rather personal after all." The last thing Petunia needed was for this to become some media storm. People didn't just abandon babies. The thought of these peoples version of detectives coming to her home made her cold inside. She didn't want to try to explain a wizard's odd fashion to her ladies tea.

"Our confidentiality is guaranteed." Mr. Gorul smiled, revealing his sharp fangs. "We take it very seriously."

A slight shiver down her spine. She most certainly didn't want to know how they dealt with breaches of bank matters. She reached down and pulled her purse out of the nappy bag, produced the letter, and handed it over to the manager. He hemmed to himself as he read through the letter. While he did his bank managing, Petunia checked on Harry. She was surprised to see his big bright eyes looking into hers, quietly munching on his knuckles. "I bet your hungry huh?" she whispered to him. The slobbery grasping motion he made confirmed her theory. Reaching into the magic bag, she found a bottle. Fortified fruit juice seemed to be a flavor he enjoyed as he contentedly held and sucked on his bottle. She was hesitant to feed him formula until she knew more about his health.

"Here," he pointed to the tube "is the will of your sister, Mrs Lillian Gwenevere Potter. As the sole surviving family member, you may act as executor of the will. If you choose to do so I will need confirmation of your relationship to the deceased and of yourself."

"What kind of documentation are you talking about?" She asked. She really had not come prepared.

"For your personal identification any government issued identification works. Most commonly used are drivers license and passports." Well she had her license on her. Rummaging through her purse, she produced her identification.

"We will need a copy of this for the file."

"For the record, of course, I understand." Petunia smiled. The manager called on Griphook and handed him her identification and the letter. There was a quick order given in a language that she didn't understand.

"While Griphook verifies those, we can move on." He produced a red feathered, metal nibbed, quill. As he pushed it and a sheaf of paper forward. The desk extended a writing surface for her to use. Magic was weird. Useful at times, but still weird. "With this quill, I will need you to fill in your full name and initial next to statements that follow. Please be aware that this pen will use your own blood as ink. It is through this medium that we can verify the familial relationship between you and your sister."

"My blood?" _what was wrong with these people?!_

"It will feel like someone is scratching you. I will be honest with you," he said earnestly. "It will be uncomfortable. It is however necessary that their be no doubt of your identification and therefore qualification to take care of young Mr. Potter."

"Will this scar me? Just how much blood are we talking about? You're not going to use it to curse me or something are you?"

The goblins nostrils flared. "I understand that as someone who has had very limited contact with the magical world, that you are hesitant. Blood quills are used on all magically binding documents. Blood can not be faked. If taken forcibly the contract will not be enacted." He enunciated his words very carefully. "Goblin contracts are at the very center of our magic. They are sacrosanct."

Hesitantly Petunia picked up the blood quill and read through the form. It was relatively simple. It required her full name, her maiden name, and a confirmation that she was indeed Lilly's sister. She had to initial next to statements confirming she would care for her nephew, that she had not kidnapped or retrieved the child through illegal or amoral means, that she found her nephew at her back door and to confirm whether or not her husband knew of magic. It went on about her rights and responsibilities as a guardian for a young prince. Pages and what seemed like hours later she could confirm that the pen was indeed uncomfortable. It felt more akin to being flicked with a rubber band when you had a sunburn. It wasn't something that would kill you but hurt non-the-less.

The goblin retrieved the document and placed it next to the tube on his desk. A brief glow of the ruby and he looked at her. "Will you be using the bank for Probate?"

Thinking, she realized that by hiring the bank for Probate, she would not have to deal with any of the people receiving anything from her sister. That worked perfectly for her. The less she had to deal with magic the better. "How much would you cost?"

He smiled a toothless smile. "It is covered as an option for the vault itself. It will cost you nothing." At that Griphook had returned and handed the documents and their originals back to Mr. Gorul.

"Here is your letter madam, as promised." he handed over the letter matching word to deed. Petunia put the it away. "I'm glad to say that everything checks out. You are free to now read the will."

Grasping the sealed tube Petunia looked at it pensively. It, like most things she'd seen in the goblins domain, was ornately carved. "How do I open it?" she asked quietly, her hands shaking.

"Simply place your hand over the jewel. I will give you a moment alone." He said as he walked out his office door into the reception area. He had taken the paperwork with him so she assumed he was setting things in motion.

"Well little man, what say you? Shall we see what kind of trouble your mother left us in?" the child just waved his empty bottle at her and gurgled. Seeing that she quickly grabbed a towel and threw it over her shoulder. She let herself be completely consumed by the process of burping Harry. She checked his diaper and then checked for any irritation on his sensitive skin before she put him back in the wrap at her chest. It seemed that with a dummy in his mouth the child was content. He closed his eyes and fell into a nap.

"Okay Petunia. You came here for this. You came here to find out how Lilly planned to take care of Harry. You came here to ensure you had what you needed to care for a magical baby. Open the will." She stared at her hands "Just open it," she whispered fiercely.

Quickly before she could second guess herself, she placed her palm over the gem. It quickly warmed. With no fanfare she could now see that one end of the tube had a circle around it. A few tests later she found that she simply needed to unscrew the end. She pulled out reams of parchment and found that a regular envelope was in the middle with her name on it. Another letter. She didn't feel like reading the letter first so she went to the will. In legal terms she found that in the case that Lilly's death came after her husbands, she shared custody of Harry with a wizard named Sirius Black. There were various beneficiary's, properties and items that were to be distributed. She didn't pay much attention to those. What she did see was that a trust had been set up for Harry's care and schooling. Also, her sister had left her the brideprice that her husbands family had paid. It was an outdated custom, but then again there were people who wore vulture hats.

She had no idea what the value was but it lessened something inside her to see she would have what she needed, at least monetarily, to raise Harry. She would need to be vigilant though. Lilly had certainly seen Vernon's character for what it was. She never saw the caring man that Petunia had seen. It seems in this perhaps, Lilly had seen more of the truth than Petunia herself.

The will seemed to go on forever without really saying anything. There was information on how common land was to be governed, family magic upkeep, and made her the secret keeper of the Potter Well. It also defined the role of justiciars, jennies, reeves, and a plethera of other roles that she was unfamiliar with. It sounded like she would need this Sirius Black fellow to run things on the magic side of the Potter Estate.

She still had questions for the bank, and likely had more paperwork that she would need to sign. Things like this were never easy, even when they were cut and dry. Another deep sigh. _Alright Petunia, you need to read the letter. It may have pertinent information that you need to know._ She thought to herself. _On the other hand it may simply have personal information. Yes it was far more likely any information contained in the letter would say things that had little baring on what I need to do now._ Withthat matter settled in her mind she slid the letter into her purse. She stood and walked over to the wall to wall picture window that overlooked the city of London and let herself get lost in the moment. Focusing on the child in her arms and the view she drew peace into her soul.

6 6


End file.
